


we built our own world

by prettierodds



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Shaun lives, everyone is HAPPY dammit, implied norman jayden/ethan mars, in which ethan mars dreams about the life he could've had, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-15 13:36:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16934232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettierodds/pseuds/prettierodds
Summary: Ethan watches the two of them together, glowing in the sun, and feels physical pain. His feet are flat against warm wooden boards, the smell of laundry detergent and pancakes and coffee filter throughout the room, Shaun's laugh rings in Ethan's ears. He’s creating this, he knows it, but he can’t make himself stop.He knows by now how this works; the more he creates the more empty he feels when he wakes up. And of course, he’s never quite ready to wake up, because it’s always when Norman turns to look at him and opens his mouth, eyes twinkling and sober, that he--"Mr. Mars?"





	we built our own world

_Lucid dreaming:_ _A dream in which the dreamer is aware that he or she is dreaming and can sometimes influence the course of the dream_

_* * * * *_

Its only happened to Ethan twice, and only after he returned home to his deadly silent apartment after Shaun . . . well.

His therapist said he wasn’t surprised, that it was normal and his sleep should even out soon. Then again, the timeline for ‘soon’ was left unclear with a half shrug and sympathetic smile.

Its happened to Ethan twice, so he knows what to do when he finds himself staring out a window into a blue July sky, cloudless and comfortably bright. There’s a voice behind him, he doesn’t need to turn around to know what he’ll see.

“Dad! Focus here, we’re on a tight schedule!”

Ethan closes his eyes and smiles.

He turns, slowly, taking in his son smiling at him from his place at the stove. He’s repeating words that he’s heard both of his parents say over and over again, yet Ethan is unsure if he fully understands them.

The house is familiar, although it’s not a place he’s been in real life. It’s ideal, something he designed for his family long ago, back when there were four voices floating through hallways and wedding rings on the nightstand. It's a ranch style home, contemporary, but a space that feels lived in. Ethan knows it's this specific house because it’s the house he imagined his family living in all those years ago, before Grace softly reminded him that building homes is expensive, even if you plan it yourself, and supporting two boys wasn’t going to be cheap.

Shaun stands at the stove, a too-large apron hanging off his young frame as he grins, frozen in his father’s dream. Ethan takes a moment to appreciate a house he knows he won’t see again for a while. Warm colors, familiar decorations on the walls, a table with three chairs in the center of the large kitchen. He knows that in the next room is a similarly setup living room with childhood pictures and literary classics (that he’s _definitely_ read) lining the bookshelves, and down the hall are bedrooms almost too perfect.

Ethan takes a deep breath and lets something go in his mind, feeling bittersweet as he watches Shaun unfreeze and wave a spatula at him.

“Don’t worry Shaun, I’m right here.” Luckily, this is a dream; Ethan doesn’t have to worry about making an effort to keep his voice steady. It’s not like this Shaun would care anyway. Ethan joins Shaun in front of the stovetop, ruffling his son’s hair affectionately and taking the mixing bowl of pancake batter. This, too, is part of the personally constructed world; a memory Ethan doesn’t think he could ever forget.

Shaun lived for Saturday mornings. His parents home, hours of uninterrupted cartoons until he deemed it time to spend the rest of remaining sunlight in the backyard. Even after his brother could no longer join him, he never wavered from Saturday morning traditions. Ethan admired that, although he realized later on that it had probably become more of a coping mechanism than anything else.

Still, a Saturday morning with Shaun, a second chance in his dream life. The life he should've had.  _Pinch me, someone._

But this is a lucid dream, and Ethan knows that when he wakes up he will be alone.

Yet here-

There’s footsteps down the hall. Ethan pauses stirring, feels his heart skip a beat. He doesn’t know why this part happens in his dream. He doesn’t control this part. Or maybe he does, subconsciously. Yes, it’s less scary if he blames it on his subconscious.

Norman Jayden comes down the hallway, smiling at the two in the kitchen. He’s barefoot, wearing jeans and a short sleeve shirt, but he’s carrying sneakers and socks that he sets on the floor by the wall.

“Hey, I can’t stay long today. Work.” He’s still smiling but he rolls his eyes a bit as if Ethan is supposed to be in on some joke.

“When will you be back?” Ethan says this every time, never thinking about it. It comes out of him like a script, like it’s something he says to Norman every day of the week.

It’s not every day in real life. _Closer to once or twice a month, if he’s lucky, and Norman never has a real response._

“I’ll try to stop by tonight if that’s alright? And then I should be off tomorrow, but we’ll see what happens.” Norman pulls out a chair, his eyes moving to Shaun.

“Hey bud, you wanna let your dad finish and come talk to me? I got another case story for ya.” Shaun happily accepts the seat and sits across from him, ready to hear about FBI agent Norman Jayden taking out bad guys.

Ethan watches the two of them together, glowing in the sun, and feels physical pain. His feet are flat against warm wooden boards, the smell of laundry detergent and pancakes and coffee filter throughout the room, Shaun's laugh rings in Ethan's ears. He’s creating this, he knows it, but he can’t make himself stop.

He knows by now how this works; the more he creates the more empty he feels when he wakes up. Of course, he’s never quite ready to wake up, it’s always when Norman turns to look at him and opens his mouth, eyes twinkling and sober, that he--

  
“Mr. Mars? Mr. Mars, I can give you another day or two but you’re already behind! Just come by my office when you’ve got the money, alright?”

Ethan registers the voice and sharp taps on the door before his eyes are fully open.

_No, please. Please. Not yet._

He’s cold, he realizes, laying in a bed with a blanket that’s a tad bit too small. The portable heater plugged in by his nightstand isn’t running, despite being powered on. Cold, gray light peeks through worn-out curtains and highlights specs of dust floating in front of the window.

Ethan sits up with a quiet sigh and stretches. Fuck. _Everything hurts all the fucking time._

He walks out of his room in the day old clothes he slept in and studies the bare, decaying apartment he’s decided to call home. There are no pictures on the walls, nothing personal on the shelves to tell that a human being lived here. Maybe not exactly a _home_ , per se, but a place for Ethan to crash when he needs it. It's not like he has anywhere else to go. 

He takes another look at the dishes piled in the sink, the dusty countertops, the stacked pile of bills and bullshit magazines on the table. There is no one, nothing here, except him.

And that’s how he fears it will always be.

Without another thought, Ethan Mars turns around and falls back into bed.

He’s never had the dream twice in a row before, but maybe this time it’ll work.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> been awhile, but i tried.  
> i like imagining this family together


End file.
